It's not too late   Be thugs, be saints   But don't streak your heart   In the light of day   Your points are down   Washed up again   Who needs a fork   When the plate is your hands?   You were not second best   But not yet a queen   You picture yourself as you seem      Ah, you don't have to blame Mr. Willow, oh, oh   Ah, you're the umbrella inside this riddle, oh      You're wrestling   With all your bones   But love is not hopstotch to live like a stone   Your soul's your world   Your mind your house   Expect nothing less than what you put out   You won't rip the circus off   They'll bench your esteem   You picture yourself as you seem      Ah, you don't have to blame Mr. Willow, oh, oh   Ah, you're the umbrella inside this riddle, oh      You let the rain follow you back down the stairs   You have the choice to count up your layers      Ah, you don't have to blame Mr. Willow, oh, oh   Ah, you're the umbrella inside this riddle, oh   Ah, you don't have to blame Mr. Willow, oh, oh   Ah, you're the umbrella inside this riddle, oh